


finding the after

by grootmorning



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 01, Romance, conversations need to be had after near-death experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 04:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12762702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grootmorning/pseuds/grootmorning
Summary: Karen's flowers have been in the windowsill for a week before he turns up.





	1. one.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he actually does turn up, Karen is not prepared.

The knock on her door came a week after the fire fight by the carousel. Karen put the flowers out the morning after, and waited.

Her pen slipped out of her hand as she looked up, distracted from the article she was currently crossing entire paragraphs out of. Hurriedly pulling the door open, she opened her mouth to say something before she realised just who was standing outside her door.

Frank gave her his crooked smile, "Hey."

Karen couldn't speak. All that she saw in her mind was Frank, soaked in his own blood and the blood of others, climbing out of the elevator shaft with a busted shoulder and shrapnel in his arm. She could see the groove where Russo's bullet had carved through his skin. The bruises on his face have faded until they're barely there and there's a small glint in his eyes that doesn't speak of violence or fear. 

His expression changed into something a little more hesitant, and he hoisted the grocery bag in his arms a bit higher. "May I come in?"

She stepped aside, allowing him room to manoeuvre but her brain still won't allow her to speak. Her fingers pressed against his jacket as he walked by her. It felt dry and soft, and there wasn't the smell of gunpowder or blood accompanying him.

Frank looked concerned that she hasn't said a word to him and he stood in the space between her living room and her kitchen, unsure of himself. "I thought I could make you some dinner, and we could, uh, chat or something."

The door shut behind her and Karen nodded. The papers and laptop on her kitchen table were quickly bundled up into her arms to make room for Frank to set his things down and she went into her bedroom to put them down. Pressing a hand to her mouth, Karen closed her eyes and composed herself. He was fine, he was here in her apartment, looking better than he had in months. But she still couldn't speak. She was afraid that if she opened her mouth, there would be nothing but tears. 

Karen had cried enough this time.

The smell of cooking garlic and onions had her walking back out and leaning back against the table to watch him work. Frank had tossed his jacket over a chair, found her knives and cooking apparatus, and was moving around like he'd done this before. Without a word, she stepped up beside him and reached up to take down two plates.

Pasta was boiling over on her stove and she took down a strainer as well, if he needed it.

They'd worked in silence before, letting it hang comfortably in the air and just enjoying each other's presence. But this silence was stifling, hanging over them like a dark cloud. Three times she saw Frank open his mouth as if to speak, then close again, unsure why she wasn't speaking to him and worried about saying the wrong thing.

Sauce was ladled over hot pasta noodles onto a plate, two chairs pulled out and sat on, water poured into glasses and cutlery set on the table. Karen had picked up the fork to start eating before a small sound of distress that she couldn't keep down anymore escaped her mouth. On her left, Frank was quietly watching, waiting for her to tell him what was wrong, before he couldn't even say anything to make it better. 

She let the fork clatter back onto the table as Frank reached out a hand to cover her left. Warmth enveloped her and she squeezed her eyes shut, turning her hand upwards to grip onto his tightly, almost bruising. 

Without another word, Frank had pulled his chair over closer to hers, holding her hands in both of his, waiting. Karen lifted her free hand to trace the groove across his scalp. If she closed her eyes, she could still see the blood covering his skin. Another small sound slipped past her lips.

"Ssh," Frank made shushing noises as she crumbled, clutching onto his hands tightly. A large hand came up to cradle her head, pulling her onto his shoulder.

Karen hated that she was being like this, "I'm sorry," she whispered through breathless gasps, "You're here. You're actually here."

Frank closed his eyes as he held her, arms winding tight around her and emotions lancing through his gut as he held the woman that he took three bullets for. The urge to comfort was so strong and yet he didn't know what to say, but to hold her, to let her know that he was here, he was alive. 

The pasta had turned lukewarm by the time Karen let him go, but Frank sure as hell wasn't about to complain. Karen picked up the fork with her right hand, and speared a couple of pieces, popping them into her mouth. She smiled weakly, "It's good."

Frank returned the small smile, picked up his own fork and started eating.

They didn't speak of the fact that she hadn't let go of his other hand, and refused to do so, even as they ate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is part one of two, i had originally wanted to make it one massive chapter but it seemed right to end it on this note. two will be up slightly later today, promise. 
> 
> i can't believe we actually got canon kastle, can you ??
> 
> tumblr: [here](http://ltfrankcastle.tumblr.com)  
> twitter: [here](http://twitter.com/ltfrankcastie)


	2. two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen doesn't know if she's strong enough to let him go again.

They'd washed up in silence, companionable silence this time. He'd plunged his hands into soapy water without hesitation, handing over clean dishes and pans for her to dry and put away. 

When they were done, Karen pulled two beers out of the fridge and handed one to Frank. She sat back down while Frank lounged against the counter, eyeing her as he cracked his open.

"You gonna talk to me now?" Frank ventured, taking a swig from his bottle.

Karen shrugged, toying with hers, "Don't know what to say."

"Bullshit. Karen Page, big time Bulletin journalist with nothing to say? Bullshit," Frank stalked over, pulled out another chair and sat by her side. His eyes were burning a hole into the side of her head but she simply let her fingers drag through the condensation that had pooled at the base of her beer bottle.

"Everything good?" 

Frank rubbed a hand over his face, "Yeah, I'm living as Pete Castiglione now, probably permanently. I don't see how Frank Castle could come back without being throw into jail, eh?" He cracked a small smile and Karen matched his, albeit weakly.

"Micro's back with his family," Frank continued. "They don't know if he can continue as an NSA analyst but they're working something out for him."

"I'm glad."

Frank watched her for a minute more, sipping at his beer. Finally, he slammed it down onto the table, making her jump.

"C'mon, Karen. Talk to me. I - I don't know what's wrong, or what I have to fix, if you don't talk to me." With a loud screech, Frank dragged the chair closer, leaning in to look at her as she avoided his eyes. "Is somebody after you? Or - or is there another situation you got yourself in to?

She shook her head slowly.

"Then what is it?" Frank growled, catching himself and lowering his volume. The desperation curled up and thrummed under his skin. He could not let anything happen to her, not again.

She remained quiet.

A sudden realisation dawned on him, "Is it me?" Frank asked quietly. "Do you want me gone?" They'd just shared a hot meal together, but suddenly, Frank felt exposed and vulnerable like never before. At a single word from Karen Page, he'd disappear and never come back. He would do anything for her, even if she asked him to jump off a roof right now, he'd do it.

Finally, Karen looked up. Her hands curled around the beer bottle again before releasing it to punch his shoulder.

It was like hitting concrete. Her hand hurt. But she did it again, and again, and again. Frank never raised a hand to catch her fists. He just sat there and let her hit him.

When her strength finally gave out, he reached out and grabbed her flailing fists, wrapped them in his, and brought them to his knee. "Got that all out of your system?" He covered her shaking hands in his and looked at her, waiting for her to speak. She didn't.

"Do you really want me gone?"

She shook her head. Her hands were still shaking. 

"What do you want?"

Karen opened her mouth and closed it again. She pressed her lips tightly together, and closed her eyes, trying to keep her composure. "I want you to have an after."

The same few words spoken not so long ago had Frank swallowing hard, trying to keep his own composure. 

"Did you find it?"

Frank gripped her hands tighter, willing her to look at him, to see what he felt, "Not all of it. Not yet."

She turned her hands upwards, and held onto his with both hands.

-

She'd thought that he was dead or dying in a ditch somewhere since it'd taken him a week to respond to her flowers. In Frank's opinion, he probably deserved more than a few punches to the arm for that.

But he told her about going to group, about what he did to Billy, giving Homeland all that information on Kandahar, and everything else he'd done since. Micro had helped him find a new apartment, one that wasn't so much of a shithole this time. He told her about the books he'd read, the actual food he was trying to eat, everything.

Karen let him talk. It was nice to hear him speak not of guns and killing, but of normal things. Well, normal for them. 

They'd moved to the couch but Karen still refused to let go of him. A hand, a knee; she was constantly resting her hand on or touching a part of him. Frank knew this. It was like she was afraid that if she released him, that he'd disappear again.

"What are you going to do next?"

Frank shrugged, tracing a vein on her hand with a finger, "Don't know really. Been fighting for so long, I don't know what I'm good at anymore."

"We'll figure it out."

A wan smile. "The war's inside here, Karen," he tapped his temple. "I don't know how to let that go."

"I - "

"I don't see Maria anymore," he interrupted her, looking up. "In that room, with Rawlins, I swear I died for a minute or two. And my old lady, she - her and the kids they were asking me to stay with them. But I didn't." His eyes were wet and she shifted closer to him, rubbing soothing circles into his arm. "Do you think they hate me for that?"

Now it was her turn to make shushing noises as he closed his eyes, shuddering. "I think they'd be glad that you chose to live, than to follow their ghosts, chasing something that you can't change."

"Y'think?" He turned to her, a man desperate and seeking for answers. "What if I forget them, Karen?"

She shushes him again, "The ones we love never really leave us. There are photographs, memories, stories of them in here." She pressed tentative fingers to his shirt, over his heart. "You keep them alive."

Frank nodded, a hand coming up to clutch at hers. 

There was a moment, but Karen couldn't bear to lose herself to it, not after Frank talked about Maria and his kids. She pulled away slowly, standing up. "It's late. We should - "

"Yeah," Frank stood up too, shoving his hands back into his pockets. "I should - "

Recalling the last time she told him to go, Karen blurted out, "Stay."

Frank turned questioningly.

In an echo of their first conversation in the hospital, Karen opened her mouth again. "Please."

He took her hand and followed her into the room. 

They changed for bed in silence on opposite ends of the room. It wasn't even debatable that Frank would be sleeping anywhere else in the apartment than on Karen's bed. His boots were placed by the bed, his shirt tossed onto the floor as he left his undershirt on. Karen was already in sleep shorts so she exchanged her blouse for an old shirt she had repurposed for sleeping. 

They got into bed silently, turning to face each other. Karen pressed her fingers to the gash on his head again, pressing her lips together. 

"It doesn't hurt," Frank whispered. 

"It always hurts," Karen replied. "You look like a walking embodiment of pain."

"Not now I don't."

"That's true," she smiled. "You look good."

He acknowledged her with a nod, reaching out to twirl a lock of her blonde hair around his finger absently. Her breath hitched a little at the warmth of his touch. "Thank you, ma'am."

It was unclear who bridged the gap but it didn't matter. The kiss was soft and uncertain, as they headed into new territories of their relationship. The kiss, the moment that was taken from them in that elevator by impending danger; they had the time now. Frank let his hand rest on her neck, pulling Karen closer as he kissed her more firmly than before.

He wanted to tell her that he was sure. Maria and his kids would always be there with him, but now he knew that there was an after. And the after was right in front of him, warm and beautiful, bright and real. 

Rolling onto his back, Frank tugged Karen onto him, wrapping strong arms around her waist anchoring her to him. She let out a breathless giggle as she leaned back down to press light kisses to the scars she could see. She wasn't going to shy away from them. They were battle scars, trophies of wars won, and they reminded her that he was a survivor, and would continue to be. 

Frank pulled her back up. Pressing his lips back to hers, Frank felt the thrumming under his skin abate, but his heart rate pick up. Karen kissed fiercely, like she did with everything else in her life. She was fearless and she was his.

Karen slipped out of his grasp and cuddled into his side, pressing kisses onto his jaw, into places where there was once only blood and pain. Frank caught his breath slowly, turning on his side again to bring both arms around her.

Leaning down, he let his lips touch her temple briefly, closing his eyes and enjoying the peace that he felt within him.

"I'm not letting go, you hear me?"

Karen's only response was to bring both her arms up to grip at his shirt. 

One thing Frank learnt was that Karen Page, big time Bulletin journalist, was always going to be right. There was an after for Frank Castle after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part two as promised.
> 
> i can't believe we actually got canon kastle, can you ??
> 
> tumblr: [here](http://ltfrankcastle.tumblr.com)  
> twitter: [here](http://twitter.com/ltfrankcastie)


End file.
